The Right and Proper Way to Have Tea
by PRAUS
Summary: In an attempt to impress his new boss, Friedrich the Great, Prussia asks Austria for some advice.


**Berlin, 1750**

The carriage trundles through the gates of Charlottenburg Palace, making a wide circle of the courtyard, the side wings reaching out like arms to enclose him.

Austria's lip curls up in disgust. The entrance, while impressive, lacks any of the elegance he cherishes. It is so boxy, so austere, so…_Prussia_.

A footman alights from the stairs and rushes over to the carriage, opening the door. As Austria makes to exit, the servant holds up a staying hand.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but Master Beilschmidt asks you pull 'round to the back."

Austria slumps back in his seat. "Of course he does."

He bangs his walking stick against the roof of the carriage. "Pull around to the _servant's_ entrance," he orders, biting off the last bit.

The footman shuts the door and the carriage bounces on its way.

How demeaning. Still, he should have guessed as much owing to their recent history – Austria's vital regions being currently seized by the very nation he's been summoned to visit. In truth, he has no idea _why_ Prussia's requested this meeting. His letters were quite vague on the matter, but Austria supposes having ones vital regions in the hands of another makes one a puppet with no right (or need) to question a summons.

As the carriage pulls up to the servant's entrance, Austria's more than a little surprised to see Prussia waiting anxiously, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed and foot tapping up and down. Prussia's head jerks left and right – as if checking for attackers – before leaving his post for the carriage.

Prussia opens the door. Austria barely has enough time to quirk an eyebrow at his conqueror's actions before Prussia grabs his arm and all but drags him up to the palace.

"What are you - ! Unhand me - ! I _am _capable of _walking_!" Austria splutters.

"Shh! Keep your voice down!" Prussia hisses.

He pulls Austria through the narrow halls, twisting around corridors, opening and closing paneled doors, until he comes to a room decorated in deep, rich greens and warm mahogany wood. Prussia throws Austria into a Baroque button back wing chair that skids several inches across the wood floor.

"What _is_ the meaning of this?" Austria demands, re-settling his glasses on his nose and straightening his cravat.

Prussia doesn't answer. He resorts, instead, to pacing the length of the room, chewing on an already worn down thumbnail.

"Prussia!" Austria shouts. "I demand an explanation!"

Prussia flies at him, arms waving wildly. "Will you keep it down? I can't risk anyone overhearing – "

"Overhearing what?" Austria fumes

"It's a…very delicate operation."

"Out with it! Enough with this cloak and dagger game!"

"I need your advice!" Prussia explodes. "Happy?"

"…A-advice?" Austria straightens his cravat again, having been caught off guard.

"Yes," Prussia groans, sinking into a chair opposite his rival. "I don't know where else to turn. I…I need…." Prussia's mouth struggles to form the words – as if he's swallowed something poisonous and is trying to vomit it back up. "I need…your help."

"Help with what?" The response is automatic. The words are out of Austria's mouth before he realizes he's spoken them.

"It's my new boss!" Prussia groans again, dropping his head into his hands.

"New?" Austria says skeptically. "He's been ruling for ten years now."

"I know, but…the thing is, we…we don't _exactly_ get along. I thought by now things would've smoothed out, but we're so _different_."

"Different how?"

Prussia's shoulders jerk up and down in an elaborate shrug. He falls back into his chair, throwing his arms over the back.

Austria fixes the other nation with a stern glare. "_Prussia._" Why must it always be a fight?

The white haired nation flinches at his name. He huffs and throws his head back, looking anywhere but at Austria.

"…It's like…this room," he says.

"This room?" Austria echoes.

"Yeah. He wouldn't like it."

Austria's brows knit wondering what Prussia means by that. He glances around the room briefly and it hits him: the room they're sitting in – the room Prussia chose out of countless others – still sports its Baroque furnishings and decorations from its previous occupant, Friedrich Wilhelm I, the Soldier King. It is dark and heavy and masculine, filled with depictions of military campaigns and glorious hunts – all things the white haired nation is familiar and comfortable with.

"And what would your new boss like?" Austria prods, though he's certain he knows the answer.

Prussia looks Austria up and down, inclining his head in the other's direction.

"Ah," Austria nods. "He likes refinement instead of…." He trails off, gesturing at the paintings in the room.

"He's into music and philosophy and wants me to learn _French_." Prussia screws his face up into one of disgust as he spits out the last part.

"…And you want me to help with what exactly?" Austria asks, a note of bitterness souring his voice. If Prussia needs to learn French, he should ask Francis – after all, _he _was part of Prussia's little invade Austria army, too.

"Teach me to be a gentleman, Specs!" Prussia says, throwing his hands up as if the answer was so obvious. "I want to impress my new boss. He's always goin' on about how much better I could be. About how I could be more than…." Prussia ducks his head, embarrassed. His voice lowers and Austria must strain to hear the rest. "…More than muddy boots and a glorified army."

Austria crosses his legs and steeples his fingers under his chin as he takes in this information. Prussia thinking of someone other than himself. A strange concept. Almost worrisome. This new Friedrich must be having a profound impact – one that might be to Austria's advantage.

"And if I help you, what do I get in return?"

"My undying gratitude," Prussia says sardonically.

Austria's eyes narrow. "That's not what I meant."

"Forget it, Specs. You're not gettin' Silesia back. Thems the spoils of war."

"Suppose I refuse?"

Prussia blinks. "You _do_ know I have your vital regions, right? I've got you by the – "

"Yes! I know, all right? No need to be crude. I was just curious. And I suppose I have no choice?"

"Nope!" Prussia grins triumphantly, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Austria lets out a long, slow breath. He takes off his glasses, wiping off imaginary smudges. It's a gesture he's used many times before, one meant to convey dignity, culture, learning – and to buy him some time to think. Whether or not Prussia realizes it, he – Austria – still has the upper hand. Prussia needs his help, his advice, on acting like a gentleman. Feeding his rival false information could prove effective in the long run….

As Austria continues to study Prussia, he sees the slight worry lines creasing the other's brow, sees the way Prussia's grin tugs ever so slightly down. He's depending on Austria and the gentleman in him knows it would be beneath him to deceive Prussia.

Grudgingly, Austria relents.

* * *

Austria spends half the night drafting a suitable lesson plan. He presents it to Prussia in the morning during breakfast.

"'Poise?' '_Proper_ German!?'" The white haired nation balks as he reads the plan and the bit of sausage he was attempting to spear goes flying across the room. "The fuck is this, Specs?"

"My case in point," Austria sniffs, tucking a napkin in his lap. "Your slang is sorely off-putting and should never find its way into a _civilized_ conversation."

"'Etiquette?'" Prussia continues to read, ignoring the jibe.

"Yes. That's the one I recommend we start with. If you want to be a gentleman, the first thing you must do is learn to comport yourself like one."

"Christ this is gonna take forever! Can't we start with something simple?"

"…What did you have in mind?" Austria bites out.

"I don't know. This is _your_ area of expertise."

"Clearly you had something in mind or you wouldn't have brought it up – "

"Tea!" Prussia snaps.

Austria cocks his head, unsure if he'd heard right. "T-tea?"

"Yeah! Tea." Prussia snatches up one of the empty porcelain cups on the table for emphasis.

"…Why tea?"

"Well, it seems like a gentlemanly drink, doesn't it?" Prussia relaxes back, setting the cup back on its saucer.

"You mean you need a drink to enjoy with the Elector instead of beer," Austria surmises flatly.

Prussia lowers his gaze and mutters to the tablecloth, "Drinking too much beer can make one…sloppy. Tea seems much more…."

"Refined," Austria supplies, blinking in surprise at Prussia's admission concerning beer.

"Yes, I suppose," Austria continues. "There is a certain ritual to it – heating the water, waiting for the leaves to steep, adding just the right amount of cream. And then there's the conversations held over a steaming cup. Men can empty entire teapots discussing politics, the arts…." Austria trails off, a wistful look in his eye.

"Right! And that's what I need to learn," Prussia says, pounding an excited fist on the table.

The clattering of porcelain brings Austria back. For a brief second, he's learned one of Prussia's closely guarded secrets – despite his usual outspokenness, Prussia doubts his own ability to carry on a simple conversation.

Austria swallows, bringing his napkin up to his lips to hide his dismay.

"All right," he says, "we'll start with the proper way to have tea."

* * *

"No, no, no. You're doing it wrong," Austria chides. "The sugar lump goes in _first_ and _then_ you pour the tea over it. It dissolves much more evenly and doesn't bob around like a drowning sailor."

"But I like tryin' to catch it in my teeth," Prussia protests.

Austria pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing for more patience. They've been at this for almost two weeks and every day it seems he must reprimand his host for something new. First it was about belching out loud. Next it was about which spoon to use and why – this took up nearly an entire day, as Prussia _still_ didn't understand the reason for having three different types of table spoons as well as a tea spoon. In his estimation, a spoon was a spoon. Then he didn't understand _why_ he had to hold the saucer while drinking the tea, at which point, Austria explained, the saucer catches spills and prevents the tea from staining clothes. This argument, making the most sense to Prussia, received the _least_ amount of protests. And _now_ the latest distraction seems to be the sugar cube.

Austria re-settles his glasses on his nose and takes a deep, steadying breath. "This is not some game at a masked ball, Prussia. This is not bobbing for sugar cubes. This is tea. _Proper_ tea. The thing _you_ wanted to learn, and if you're not going to take this seriously and quite wasting my time, I might as well leave."

"Vital regions or not," Austria adds, seeing the sneer forming around Prussia's lips.

"C'mon, Specs! I was only joking around with ya. Besides, listening to you drone on about the different types of spoons for the last two weeks is so _boring_. When do we get to the good stuff?"

"Prussia, this is _important_ – "

"We've been fixing tea for two weeks and haven't even drunk any of it yet! And the kitchen staff's gettin' pissed at all the food we're wasting – pastries, sandwiches, and oh yeah, the _tea!_ That stuff doesn't come cheap."

"We'll drink the tea and eat the food when you can successfully pour a cup _and_ stir the cream in without making a mess of things!"

"Fine! I'll pour your damn tea!" Prussia snaps and grabs a fresh tea cup, turns it over on its saucer, plucks a sugar cube from the bowl – with the tongs and not his fingers, this time, Austria notes – and sets it in the cup. Prussia snatches up the teapot and fills the cup, leaving only enough room to add a dollop of cream, which he successfully pours. He gently stirs the mixture with the tea spoon, lightly taps the spoon on the side of the cup before setting it on the napkin, and hands the whole thing – saucer and all – to Austria.

"There's your damned tea," Prussia mutters.

Austria observes the cup with a critical eye. The coloring is spot on – not too much cream to overpower the tea – and not a drop of tea spilled its way onto the saucer as Prussia stirred. He brings the cup up to his lips and tastes. A hint of sweetness as the sugar cube dissolves, but overall the tea's earthy flavor comes through. This cup of tea is…not bad.

Austria takes another sip, this one longer than the last.

"Well?" Prussia demands.

"It's…passable," Austria sniffs.

Prussia laughs, a loud bark at first, then remembering whose company he's in, Prussia dials it back to a subdued titter in an effort to contain his outbursts.

The white haired nation looks like he's having a seizure, and this makes Austria laugh – not quiet and gentle, but a loud, mouth opened wide guffaw. When he realizes what he's doing, he quickly covers his mouth with his hand, but his body continues to shake as he snickers behind it.

Prussia blinks at him and smirks. "It's nice to know you have a normal side after all, Specs."

Austria dries his eyes once the giggling fit has stopped and sets the saucer back on the table. Tea pools around the base of the cup, having sloshed out over the sides during his laughing spell. Austria stares at it, looks at Prussia – whose lips are fighting not to smile – and begins laughing all over again.

He sinks in his chair, he's laughing so hard. His glasses slide askew and his face is red from not being able to catch a proper breath. And it feels _good_. It feels good to let it all go, to have _something_ to laugh about and someone to laugh about it _with._

When he's able to catch a breath, Austria props himself back up in his chair and re-adjusts his glasses.

"You know, Prussia, I was wrong," he says.

The white haired nation, having helped himself to a sandwich, waits until he's fully chewed and swallowed it before asking: "What d'you mean, Specs?"

"About all of this." Austria gestures to the tea set. "You can make a cup of tea however you damn well please. All that matters are the moments in between. You shouldn't be afraid to be yourself around your new boss. You'll find moments – like the one we just had – and realize that you're not so different after all."

"Cheers, _Österreich_," Prussia says, re-filling his guest's cup before pouring one of his own. He drops the sugar cube in, watches it bob around for a moment, then picks up the cup and drinks.


End file.
